


In Media Res

by orphan_account



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for TeamLambliff Fic Meme prompt #56: Adam angst over falling for the straight guy again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Media Res

“Excuse me?” Adam says blankly, absolutely certain he’s heard wrong.

Tommy rolls his eyes, and maybe Adam's just a little off his game, because all he can do is stand there dumbly, and observe the way Tommy’s eyelashes sweep out in perfect black fans that every single girl Adam has ever met would be jealous of.

“You. Can. Grab. Me.” Tommy says in his _I cannot believe you’re this stupid_ voice. “I mean—it’s kind of the point right? This is supposed to be a kinky bondage club, and you’re the “master” –you should probably try to manhandle me a little.”

Adam’s been hard all day—kinda difficult not to be with all the half—okay, three quarters-naked men milling about. This conversation is _absolutely_ not helping. Adam is trying very very hard not to think of his bassist "that way" but Tommy doesn't make it easy when he says shit like that.

And the little shit just keeps talking! “Maybe you could pull my hair? I won’t really be playing, so it won’t mess anything up. Or you could grab my ass. Or hey, you could—“

“Okay, _okay_! I get it! You don’t mind if I rough you up a little. Aren’t there, I don’t know, bassist-y things you could be doing?” Adam doesn’t mean to sound so testy, but this is really more than one man should have to take. He can’t be expected to deal with a hundred mostly-naked pretty boys being grabby with him as well as one fully-dressed pretty boy telling _him_ to fucking grab. He can handle one at a time, but not both simultaneously.

“Dude, chill. Do it or don’t, I don’t fucking care,” and he turns on his heel and flounces away like a little fucking princess and fucking fuck.

“Faithless bitch,” he mutters in the general direction of karma, massaging his temples. “I’m taking a break,” he says to the director, not waiting for a reply before he stalks away. He thinks the bathroom is this way.

When he finds it he almost cries because it has an actual _lock_, which he wastes no time using. He just needs a minute to breathe, just one minute to—and this is when it occurs to him that _Wait. The door_ locks_!_ And suddenly he knows exactly what he needs.

He unzips his pants, pulls out his cock, and begins stroking. It’s rough and it’s dirty and it’s exactly what he needs. It’s not even close to the most satisfying orgasm he’s ever had but when it’s over the tension drains out of him and he feels like an actual person again. He cleans up quickly and returns to the ballroom.

“Feel better?”

Adam jumps, and turns to face Tommy. “Yeah.” He’s not very good at apologies, but, “Listen, I’m—”

“Whoa, whoa. Stop. I get it,” Tommy’s distracted, fiddling with the bass.

Adam blinks. “You do?”

“Sure. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right?”

“Uh, right?” Adam has no idea where the fuck this is going but he is absolutely _sure_ he doesn’t like it.

“I guess no one told you,” he says casually, looking up at Adam through his eyelashes.

Adam narrows his eyes. “Told me what?” Tommy is really bad at playing innocent. Like, Brad-bad at it.

Tommy presses his lips together to suppress his smile. “Non-functioning locks.”

Adam blinks.

“I had to piss while you were gone,” he elaborates.

“Oh my fucking god. You saw me—you saw me?” Adam doesn’t know whether to be really fucking mad or really fucking embarrassed. Or to drop to the floor and laugh hysterically.

“Don’t worry.” Tommy says cheerfully, “I thought the freckles on your ass were really cute,” then he jumps away and runs off laughing before Adam can swipe at him.

Just for that Adam does grab his ass while they’re filming. Well, for that and because he wants to.

~~~~~

_Okay_, Adam thinks philosophically, _so I might be in a little bit of trouble here. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before._

“Adam?” Brad’s looking at him, half amused, half concerned, and all calculating, eyes darting in the direction Adam’s been staring for the last several minutes, then back.

When he gets it, Adam is a little disappointed it took him so long.

“Oh my _god_, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Brad exclaims, hands flapping like maybe he wants to push Adam or slap him across the face or something.

“Will you _shut up_,” Adam hisses when several of the guests turn to look in their direction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he continues calmly, fully aware Brad’s not buying what he's trying to sell.

“Oh my _god_,” Brad repeats. “I can not believe this. You really are a fucking masochist. Also, it’s just super classy lusting after someone else at Drake’s…thing. I’m just saying,”

“This from the guy who met at least a third of his hook-ups at _my_ shows,”

“That’s different,” Brad says sullenly.

“How so?”

“It just is, and don’t try to change the subject. Seriously Adam. You’re going to get your heart broken.” The “again” could not have been clearer if he’d actually said it.

Adam smiles, because on the surface Brad is all smoke and mirrors and fuck-you-very-much…but underneath all the bullshit he has a good heart and a fierce, almost frightening protectiveness for those he loves. Adam’s lucky (and knows it) to be on that short list because it means, no matter what, someone always has his back. Even when he’s being a colossal dumbass.

“I’m _fine_. Really.” It’s even mostly true. At the moment.

Adam lets his gaze gravitate back across the room to where Tommy’s having an animated—well, for him anyway—discussion with Lisa. He has that crooked smile that means he’s really happy playing about his mouth; and it lifts another fraction when he catches Adam looking at him. He lifts his hand like he might wave, but then his eyes flash on something to Adam’s right and he aborts the motion half-way through, scratching his head instead. He abruptly turns his attention back to Lisa.

Adam looks over quickly and Brad is half a second too late clearing the glare and pulling on his too-innocent-to-be-real face. “What?” he says defensively, when Adam just looks at him. The trick to dealing with Brad is to not—under any circumstances—get angry. It only encourages him for some unfathomable reason.

So Adam just shakes his head, exasperated.

“It’s fucked up Adam.” Brad says quietly, and Adam’s actually surprised at the full-blown worry in his voice.

“Maybe,” Adam admits. “But I don’t want you giving Tommy shit. It’s not his fault and it’s not his problem,”

_It’s mine_, he thinks as Brad reluctantly agrees. _I’ll deal with it_.

~~~~~

_Shit shit shit_! It’s chanting through his head so loudly he doesn’t know how he concentrates enough to remember the lyrics. He can’t believe he fucking fell. He doesn’t even _remember_ the last time he fell.

Then it’s time for his and Tommy’s little part and he’s feeling wild, and crazy, and just a little bit mad. Tommy looks up right on cue and in the millisecond before it happens, their eyes meet and Tommy’s seem to say _yeah, do it_! Adam kisses him. It’s painful and it’s messy, but Tommy melts; knees buckling and arm flinging out to catch himself on the keyboard, pushing up into it, into _Adam_ and for a dangerous moment he thinks about fucking off on the rest of song so he can make it a proper kiss.

But he yanks himself away just before it can dissolve that far, and continues on with the routine, exhilarated, disoriented, and uncomfortably hard. He has neither the time nor the courage to look back.

When it’s over, he’s a little apprehensive. He knows he’s going to pay dearly for his improvisations but that isn’t why his heart’s beating too fast and his stomach is in knots. “You can grab me,” is a little bit different than “You can shove your tongue down my throat and rub on me like a cat in heat.” He doesn’t want to lose Tommy; he complements their band in a way no else could.

He makes his way to the upper tier. Tommy’s doing something with the keyboard, but he sees Adam almost immediately and the wide, giddy grin that splits his face calms Adam the way no words could have. “We motherfuckin’ tarted it up alright—dude, that was epic! Hey though, a little less _eating my face off_ next time, okay?”

Adam throws his head back and laughs, the excitement and high of the performance rushing back on the heels of relief.

_Next time_ he thinks. _He said ‘next time.’_

~~~~~

“It’s f-f-f-freezing,” Tommy gasps.

Adam rolls his eyes. “It’s gotta be at least fifty degrees out here. Wuss,” he adds.

Tommy glares at him. “Hello! California born and bred. I’m a heat junkie. I wear a sweater if it’s under seventy,”

“How the fuck did you survive Russia?” Longineu asks, holding the door to the building open.

Tommy flips him off. “I wore layers. Jesus, why is it even cold _inside_?”

Tommy continues bitching all the way through the lobby, and once in the elevator Adam unwinds his scarf from around his neck. Once he gets it free he drapes it around Tommy’s, fixing it so it’s snug against his throat. The silence in the elevator starts to feel uncomfortable, but the thing is—it’s not coming from Tommy. He’s just looking at Adam with this unreadable but completely calm expression.

Adam shoots a look at Monte, whose eyebrows are almost to his hairline, but he looks away before Adam can really gauge what he’s thinking. Lisa and Longineu are looking everywhere but at him, and the two irate “assistants” are too absorbed in their game of “No I Hate Adam the Most!” to notice anything.

Adam clears his throat, “If you damage it in any way, I will _end you_,” which seems to dissipate the tension somewhat. “That is an Alexander McQueen scarf.”

“Right. A ridiculously expensive _throat warmer_. Don’t drool, blah blah, I get it,”

The elevator opens and they get out. A hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns back. It’s Monte with an unhappily familiar look on his face.

“Not you too,” he groans. He looks at Monte with his most piteous expression. “I’m _fine_, I swear,”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lambert,”

_No clue_, he thinks. He thinks it later too, when he’s singing and looking at Tommy. _I have no idea what I’m doing_.

~~~~~

The Early Show is okay. The interview’s kind of annoying but that isn’t unexpected. He’s not sorry about what he did, he means that, but he is kind of bummed that it’s all anyone wants to talk about. His album is fucking _good_. He wants to talk about _that_.

“Adam!”

He shakes himself out of his funk. They’ll be performing in a few minutes. “Yeah?” It’s Lisa. He goes to her, dodging wires and people and instruments.

She leans over to whisper in his ear. “You have to do something about Tommy.”

“What’s he doing?” he whispers back.

“_Look_ at him!” she points somewhere behind him.

Adam does. Tommy is glaring, and probably about ten seconds away from ripping the head off of one of the show's technicians.  
“_Fuck_,” he mutters, with feeling.

“Don’t fucking stand there and cuss. Fucking do something,”

Adam makes a face. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do. Tommy’s usually pretty chill, but when he’s pissed, he’s fucking _pissed_.

He makes sure to keep smiling as he moves over to Tommy. It wouldn’t do to make the spectators suspicious. Some of them had freakish perception. Tommy’s just standing up with his “I’m gonna kick your ass into next week” face, when Adam reaches him and grabs his arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he leans down and whispers directly into Tommy’s ear. He sees flashbulbs going off but that annoyance is secondary to averting this disaster.

Tommy grasps his forearm; mutters “He’s doing it wrong. Fucking noob,”

“So let him do his job and fix it when he leaves. You don’t have to get mad,”

“I am mad. I’m fucking pissed—why aren’t you?”

Adam has a feeling they’re not talking about the alleged newbie wiring guy anymore. “Pissed about what, baby?”

“_This_. All this…this _bullshit_. It’s not like you shoved any of their faces in your dick or tongue-boxed their tonsils. What’s the fucking problem? I don’t get it,” Tommy’s voice keeps rising, and how had Adam _missed_ this?

“Shhh,” Adam hushes. Despite everything, when he smiles this time it’s for real. “None of this shit _matters_. Focus on the music, because when it comes down to it, that’s what’s important.”

He hadn’t really noticed before, but his mouth is practically _inside_ Tommy’s ear. And, ew, now he’s got a mouthful of hair. He brings his hand up and brushes a few strands out of his face, tucking it behind Tommy’s ear. When he accidentally touches the earrings,Tommy shivers. He wonders briefly how this must look to the people outside, but he can’t actually bring himself to care.

“Don’t stress so much,” Adam says, moving back a little. “Another scandal’ll come along in a few weeks and no one will even remember this. Enjoy the free publicity while it lasts.” As an afterthought he adds, “And be nice to the wiring guy.” Tommy snorts, so Adam knows he’s okay. He pats him on the shoulder and goes back over to Lisa.

“I took care of it,” he says.

Lisa’s got one eyebrow arched. “So I saw. Listen, Adam—”

“Oh! That’s our five minute cue. Come on, there’s still all kinds of stuff to do.”

Lisa seems to take the hint, but she still gives him a long look.

~~~~~

Adam closes the door to his room calmly. He takes off his gloves and scarf and lays them on the vanity; drapes his coat over the chair. Takes a deep breath.

And kicks the chair across the room in a fit of temper.

He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and viciously deletes every text message and voicemail on the damn thing before turning it off. He flops on to the bed and stares at the ceiling. Then he turns it on again bites off a quick Twitter update. No one else has to know it’s sarcasm. Then he looks at his contacts. He hovers over Kris’s name, but he already knows what he’ll say. Adam doesn’t want to be talked down. He doesn’t want to keep the peace. He wants to be fucking _naughty_.

“Hello?” Adam loves the way Tommy answers the phone. Like he never knows who’s calling. Like he’s never heard of Caller ID—or maybe he just ignores it. That sounds like something Tommy would do.

“Wanna fuck with people’s heads?”

“Are you kidding? Always.”

“Get on Twitter.” He hangs up and taps out a quick message. But he wavers over sending it. Maybe it’s too much.

He sends it anyway, then waits. And waits. And waits. Finally, just when he thinks he actually _did_ go too far, his Twitter ringtone goes off and he reads, “@adamlambert hey hey there babyboy :D I’m jealous I wish I was still in NY”

Adam grins like a loon when “All the Young Dudes” blasts from his phone. “You changed your ringtone again,” he tries for stern but only manages amused.

“Change is the essence of life.”

“That’s deep.”

“Thinkexist.com, man. Are you in your room?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck are you doing in your room on a Friday night in New York City?”

“I’m going out later. I just needed to get away from everyone.” He doesn’t know what compels him to add, “Family drama,”

“That sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” And just like that Adam’s morose again.

Tommy's quiet for a moment. “Save the drama for your momma,” he says finally.

Adam opens his mouth; shuts it; tries again, “_Excuse_ me?”

“Wait that one doesn’t quite fit, just a sec. ‘Baseball is drama with an endless…’ no wait, you don’t care about baseball. Oh, here’s a good one ‘The drama of life begins with a wail and ends with a sigh.’ Totally appropriate, don’t you think?”

But Adam can’t answer him, he’s literally rolling with laughter. His eyeliner is probably running and his ribs are aching, but he’s really laughing for the first time in days.

“Oh my god, Tommy. You are insane.” Adam’s still chuckling, but at least he can breathe now. “I have to get ready, I’ll see you when I get home,”

“Have fun,”

Adam’s still grinning when he leaves the hotel. He guesses Tommy technically had talked him down—but at least he was willing to play while he did it. Adam finds he doesn’t mind he’s been manipulated into a good mood.

He’s falling a little harder every day, and he doesn’t know how to stop, even if he wanted to.

~~~~~

Adam hates it when Tommy's upset. He hates it even more when he doesn't know _why_. "What the fuck was that?"

Tommy's packing his gear away, and doesn't look up. "What was what?"

"You. Snubbing me. _On tape_. Ringing any bells?"

Tommy actually seems to think about it for a minute. "Nope," he says, finally and returns to his work. He still won't look at Adam, the cheeky fucker.

"You are _unbelievable_." Adam huffs, throws his hands in the air, and turns to leave. "Come find me when you stop acting like a child."

"Are you sorry? About the AMAs? 'Cause that sounded an awful lot like an apology to me," Tommy's looking at him finally, but not with any expression Adam recognizes. Some blend of hope and wariness, he thinks.

"Is _that_ what this is about? Oh my--Tommy, I am not sorry. There's only one thing about that performance I'd change if I could do it over. Do you know what it is?"

"Not fall on your face?"

Adam smiles, "Okay, smartass, two things then. The other is that I'd have not sucked vocally. That's it,"

"Hmph," Tommy grunts, but looks relieved. "Speak for yourself. _I'd_ change that kiss,"

"Hey hey hey! You said you were fine with--"

"I didn't say I wouldn't let you kiss me. It's just that even though it looks really hot and stuff on TV, it was kind of a bad kiss."

"Well, I wasn't exactly concerned with finesse at that moment." Adam says wryly. "I'm usually _fantastic_," and it hurts his pride a little that Tommy will probably think he's a bad kisser forever.

"Oh yeah? Prove it,"

Adam opens his mouth to instinctively meet the challenge, then the actual words penetrate. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me. Prove it. Kiss me,"

"_Here_?" Adam asks in lieu of stunned staring. Which is kind of really what he wants to do because _what the fuck_? "Did you forget to take your medicine this morning?"

Tommy tips his chin up stubbornly. "I wanna know what a real kiss from you is like."

"But--but _why_?"

Tommy scowls, "Jeeze, if you don't want to just say so."

"It's not...I mean, it's not...that. It's just, I've kind of already told everyone you were straight and no one will believe it if they see us making out _here_."

Tommy makes a show of looking around, "I don't see anyone," and goddammit he's right. Unbelievably, there isn't a soul in sight. "I'm wai-ting," Tommy sing-songs.

Adam starts to protest again, then stops. He's been wanting this for weeks. Why is he arguing?

Well, in point of fact, there are reasons aplenty; all of which he ignores to lean down and kiss Tommy. This kiss is the complete polar opposite of the previous one. He keeps it light, sweet, with just a bit of tongue. Testing, though he needn't have worried: Tommy's mouth opens at the first touch, and Adam licks into him. He feels Tommy's arms come up around him, but it barely registers. He hadn't been able to savor the taste before, but he does now.

Adam takes his time, pulling away just a little and nipping until Tommy's mouth follows almost unconsciously. He slides a hand up the other man's jaw, positioning him and deepening the kiss further. He keeps it easy still, trying to coax Tommy's tongue to come out and play. He's just beginning to succeed when someone clears his throat. Loudly.

Adam jumps back like he's been burned, so quickly that Tommy stumbles along, still practically wrapped around him. The throat-clearer is Longineu, whose eyebrows are disappearing into his dreads. To his credit, he just raises his hands in a placating gesture, "Uh, people. Coming. From that way," and backs out of the room.

It's not until then that Tommy seems to get a grip and jerks away, raising a shaky hand to his mouth. "That was, um. So I guess you're not that bad a kisser after all." He's obviously trying really hard to sound unaffected. He fails. Badly. His gaze is all over the place, never still but it doesn't land on Adam once.

_Fuck. This is reason number one why it was a bad fucking idea._ "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah I'm fine. I have to..." he gestures toward the remaining equipment that needs packed up. Adam opens his mouth to say something, he doesn't know what, but then there are people there. Lots of people. Thankfully, no one seems to notice anything is wrong, though he doesn't know how they all miss the concerned looks he keeps sending Tommy's way.

Now that he thinks about it, something seems off about his bassist. Maybe some of it is preoccupation with recent events, but he's too pale, even accounting for his normal pallor. Were those circles under his eyes, or was it smudged eye-liner?

Tommy raises a hand to his mouth again, rubs his bottom lip. He catches Adam looking and his eyes widen, but he doesn't look away.

Adam does it for him.

~~~~~

"You look like shit, you know,"

Tommy glares his very glariest glare at him and slurps another spoonful of soup. "Fuck you," he croaks.

"_And_ you sound like frog,"

"Why are you here again? At three A.M.?"

"Don't worry though. You're still _beautiful_ to me," Adam reassures, ignoring the question. _Because you don't have anyone to take care of you_.

"Die," Tommy says tonelessly. "You. Rat. Bastard."

"Aw, don't be like that, baby. Do you want me to fluff your pillows for you? Get you a hot water bottle for your achy muscles? Ooh, give you a _sponge bath_?"

"I'm going to sneeze on you, I swear to god,"

"But you're so cute and pathetic when you're sick, I can't help it!" Adam's having way more fun than he should be, but his sources had assured him it was just a touch of the flu, nothing to be alarmed about.

Tommy sets the bowl aside and Adam bites down on the urge to tell him to eat more. By keeping him distracted, Tommy had already consumed more than Adam had hoped, and he'd finally gotten him to sit down instead of trying to tidy up the apartment, which was, frankly, a futile endeavor. The place is a _sty_.

"Okay, I have stuff to do. Time to get you to bed,"

"I can get myself to bed," Tommy protests unconvincingly. He really is adorable when he's ill, Adam thinks fondly.

"Nope, I'm not leaving till you're settled, so you might as well let me help."

Tommy stands slowly. Takes a step. And sways alarmingly.

Adam steadies him with a hand on his lower back and Tommy reaches up and grasps his shoulder. "Hey, hey now. You okay?"

"Dizzy," Tommy manages.

Adam walks him to his bed and lets him collapse onto it. Adam picks up the debris he can see and flings it in the direction of somewhere-not-here. "You're a fucking slob, you know that?" he says, wrinkling his nose when he finds a pair of underwear that may or may not be clean. He doesn't even want to know.

But Tommy's apparently already dozing because no smart remark is forthcoming. Adam hesitates, then unbuttons the uncomfortable-looking corduroys and pulls them off, thanking god Tommy is wearing boxers underneath. He pulls the comforter up tucks it in like he might a child.

Then, cursing himself (because he's already running late, and his driver and assistant are probably shitting themselves) he really does fluff the pillows and fill a bottle with hot water, which he wraps in a towel and places under Tommy's back.

When he pulls away, Tommy's hand shoots out to grasp his wrist. "Don't go," he slurs.

Adam wavers. "I have to," he finally murmurs soothingly. "I'll be back this afternoon, I promise."

But Tommy's grip has already gone lax and his breathing is evening out. Adam pushes his arm back under the covers and sweeps his bangs from his face.

He doesn't want to go. _Damn it_ he really doesn't.

He leans down and plants a chaste kiss on Tommy's damp, hot forehead and makes himself leave, double-checking the lock on his way out.

He broods in the car, but thinks he hides it well. All the world's a stage and the show must go on. Clichés to live by.

~~~~~

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Tommy snaps when he gets his bearings, tugging ineffectually at the arm Adam's hauling him away with.

"No, what the fuck do you think _you're_ doing? You can't just--you can't just--"

"Kiss whoever the hell, I want? Actually, I _can_. I _am_ an adult you know!"

And fuck the way it slices through Adam like a goddamn cleaver. _Focus Lambert_. "The paparazzi could be anywhere. If they see you..."

"They'll what, take pictures? So fucking what," Tommy tries to pull away again, but Adam's not letting it go that easily.

"Are you _high_? What the paps see _everyone_ sees."

"Good! Maybe if 'everyone' sees, _you_ finally will!"

"What the fuck does that even _mean_?" Adam explodes. He can't concentrate over the thumping of the music. Turning on his heel, he tows a now-subdued Tommy to one of the bouncers at the entrance of the VIP rooms. He shows his pass and pushes Tommy into the first empty room he can find, closing and locking the door behind them.

"Now tell me what the fuck you meant by that," he growls. "And Tommy--I am _not_ in the mood to be fucked with."

Tommy juts out his chin and crosses his arms. "Fuck you," he says sullenly, eyes averted.

Adam grabs his jaw and forces his face up, their eyes to meet. "Tommy," he starts, but the anger drains out of him abruptly. There's defiance, yes, but there's fear too. Tommy's _afraid_ and Adam never wants him to feel that way with him. He lets go slowly, but doesn't move away. "What did you _mean_?" he pleads quietly.

"You _know_ what I meant! I've been flirting with you for _weeks_, and you just thought, what, I was doing it to fuck with you?"

"Um," This is one of the very few situations in his life where Adam has been at a complete loss for words. "Yes?" _That's exactly what I thought, actually._

"Oh my god. _You are so stupid_."

"_You're fucking straight_! Adam yells. "You're _straight_, or I _thought_ you were straight. Every-fucking-body _said_ you were straight, even _you_ said so."

"When?" Tommy challenges.

Adam opens his mouth to fire back, but draws a total blank. "Your Myspace!" he finally says triumphantly. "You're Myspace says you're straight,"

Tommy blinks like he doesn't know what Adam's talking about. "Really? Huh. I wondered why you started telling people that."

"You never corrected me," Adam points out.

"I thought it was kind of funny."

"_And_ you had a girlfriend when we met."

Tommy grins. "I'm very flexible,"

Despite himself, Adam laughs. They look at each other for a while, smiling, then they both seem to realize they're in a private room with a locked door, and everything is out in the open between them.

He doesn't know who pounces who, but the end result is Tommy up against the door, every part of him tight against every part of Adam and that's an outcome Adam can get behind.

~~~~~

It ends like this.

Fingers laced, palm to palm on Adam's silk sheets, pulling out and thrusting back into the tight and slick and hot he can feel even through the condom. Tommy's neck arches back, throat and collarbone mottled with bruises. With proof. Lips swollen and eyes closed until they're wide and his breath stutters out on a gasp and he shudders, hips snapping up looking, looking and not finding until Adam chooses to give it to him again. Then the process starts all over again.

Adam stills, leans down to steal a kiss that Tommy gives away. He's close and so is Tommy but he wants to savor it just a little while longer, just a little bit more. He moves again, harder this time, ready now, speeding toward the finale. He comes first, but he keeps going, fights to keep his eyes open and it pays off, because when he reaches down to touch Tommy he shakes apart, and his eyes fly wide open, unseeing, and he makes this breathy shuddering sound that Adam wants to commit to memory and replay over and over again.

_You're beautiful_, Adam wants to say, or _I can't believe this is happening to me_, but he refrains. He disengages, disposes of the condom and wraps Tommy up in his arms. He's usually wired after sex, animated and ready to go, but Tommy gets lethargic and drowsy and it's the only time he will actively participate in a cuddle. Adam finds he is absolutely willing and able to trade his post-coital energy high for lying in bed quietly with Tommy draped bonelessly over him.

Tommy mumbles something sleepily, but when Adam looks down his breathing is steady and deep. He's asleep.

Maybe they're making a huge mistake, and maybe one or both of them will get their hearts broken. Karma's still a faithless bitch and Adam still has no fucking clue what he's doing, but for right now?

For right now, he's happy.


End file.
